


Freedom

by soldatssassenach



Category: Creed - Fandom, Creed 2, Rocky Series (Movies), florian munteanu, viktor drago - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 10:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldatssassenach/pseuds/soldatssassenach
Summary: This was based off a request back when I was on Tumblr.  “Viktor comes home after a fight/training session and he looks bad. Hurt and bloody so you/reader take care of him and you just hate how hurt he gets physically and emotionally because his father’s expectations so you as “would you stop?” And he would be like ‘no’ because it’s his life but…”





	Freedom

You first met him during your first graveyard shift. Starting out as a doe eyed idealist, an optimist who wished to use their newfound skills in healing to share with third world nations. Healthcare in your country was a joke. And when it wasn’t, you realized there were more desperate souls who truly needed the help. From all over the world, you never once thought you’d find yourself in Kiev. 

After bandaging up a regular who visited due to his own frequent drunken bar fights, you returned the chart to the nurse’s station when your coworker handed you a new chart, pointing you in the direction of an empty room. 

“Be careful,” she warned you. “A boxer is in there with his dad. Kind of an asshole…” 

“The dad or the boxer?” You warily asked. 

A sly grin appeared on your friend’s lips. “You’ll find out soon enough.” Bitch, you thought humorously to yourself as you made your way to the new exam room. 

And in weaving 24 stitches across an open cut above the eyebrow was how you met Viktor Drago. And his dad Ivan… the asshole. Time passed and throughout mending broken fingers, nursing concussions, stitching and restitching open cuts, resetting displaced joints, along the line you and Viktor had developed somewhat of a friendly rapport. Always kind. Always silent. But brief. Thanks to Ivan hovering around, making sure you did your job. 

Soon enough, you and Viktor created your own shared secret way of communicating, each one making your heart flutter, hoping only it made him feel the same. One time when Ivan cursed a string of Russian obscenities at you for taking your time in suturing a nasty cut on Viktor’s cheekbone, Viktor waited until Ivan turned his back to brush his fingers against your wrist. His eyes pleaded with you, almost as if to say he were sorry for his father’s behavior toward you. Very briefly, you relaxed your lips into a smile as you nodded, all the while never knowing that despite the pain, Viktor wanted nothing more than to make you smile again. 

One morning as your shift was coming to an end, you dragged your tired ass out through the doors of the ER, the call of your bed stronger than any hospital code. When you saw him out on the ramp, bundled up in his winter jacket and a navy blue beanie, shyly smiling at you with a cup of what you presumed to be coffee in his hand. 

“Viktor,” you tiredly beamed. “What are you doing here?” 

“I told my father I was going to the diner for breakfast before work. And hospital is on the way back to work. I thought you would want a Russian tea. I know you like them,” he said, offering you the cup he’d been holding. 

“How did you know?” You asked, unable to contain your giddiness, your exhaustion temporarily forgotten. 

“I heard you talking with Yelena that night I came in with broken ribs. Just before you came into my room, you said how much you wanted a Russian tea. And I wanted to thank you. I know my father is… well…” he said, his voice drifting away with an angered glare in his eyes, staring off at nothing into the distance. 

“You didn’t have to do this Viktor,” you murmured, utterly touched. “But I’m really happy you did.” 

“I would walk you home but,” he sheepishly murmured, as though he were ashamed of his failed chivalry attempt. 

“You have to go to work, I know,” you consoled him, finally reaching toward his hand. With a tentative touch, you reached out to grasp his fingers in yours. “It’s okay.” 

Viktor looked up at you, your touch bringing his gaze to your eyes. The two of stood there, frozen, the other unsure of what to do. Upon realizing Viktor’s fingers were tightening around yours, your breath tightened in your chest. With awkward pauses and hesitant steps forward, the two of you began leaning in, your faces tilting sideways, your fingers never letting go of one another. 

Until Viktor’s phone went off. “My father. I have to go,” he whispered, regret marring the cloud of what was once happiness. 

“I know,” you reassured him, squeezing his fingers once more. “I’m happy you came here Viktor. To talk to you. Really talk to you. For the tea as well. I hope it happens more?” 

“Of course,” he said. 

And while the two of you were contented with stolen glances in the beginning, the thought of it progressing to stolen moments when you were leaving the hospital and he on his way to work elated you beyond words. Through the stolen moments you learned a little more about each other. Viktor learned about your ill conceived idealism that had birthed your desire to travel around the world with the desire to heal. You had to hide your face, burning holes into the ground when he called you kind and noble. You learned a little more about Viktor’s boxing career. He seemed to blush each time you asked him for more and more details about his world, all to happy to talk about it. The difference between lightweight and heavyweight. What had counted as a penalty. 

The first time you parted ways with a hug, you lingered and burrowed your face into his chest, sighing with bubbling excitement when Viktor lingered as well. The way his clothes had remained scents from the lumberyard where he worked, his body wash, and his own smell, you could get drunk off inhaling him. 

“I have a fight tonight,” he told you one particular morning. “You can come?” He warily asked. 

“Viktor I would but…”

“You have to work, I know. Is this…all it can be?” He pleaded, a question you knew he required no answer of you. “You heal me and I bring you tea? I want more… than this,” he murmured, taking your hands in his as he brought them up to his chest. 

“Me too,” you muttered, heartbroken at the thought that more may never be more than just an naive idealist’s wish. 

Until the two of you knew how to move forward, pushing aside the obstacle of a very vocal and disapproving Ivan, unfortunately more would have to stay a naive idealist’s wish. And that thought moved your heartbreak to anger. 

Later that night had turned into just another night until you heard the rushed beginnings of a code. All hands on deck. Brushing your anger aside, you began getting ready when Yelena rushed alongside you. 

“It’s Viktor Y/N,” she said quietly.   
Without so much as a second thought, you ran to the ER, indeed seeing an unconscious Viktor stretched out onto the gurney. Surrounded by a small team of doctors and nurses. Pushing your way through them, you marveled at the wounds on his face. His fight. Oh no, you thought. 

“What happened?” You asked, checking for any signs of response. 

“Knocked out in the fifth round. Hasn’t woken up,” a nearby resident explained. 

“Get him to an OR, now,” you heard the primary doctor order. 

You made to follow them, blood rushing a wave of heat in your ears, noise drummed out to the only sound you could hear now was your own heartbeat. It wasn’t until you felt a grab of your shoulder that the bustling noise of the ER brought you back down to earth. You turned around and saw Ivan standing before you, in what you could swear was a glimmer of worry. It was subtle. But it was there. 

“Please,” he asked. 

You nodded and followed the path to the operating room. 

~*~*~*~*~

Viktor awoke to the soft but annoying whirring of the monitor keeping his vitals. Looking around in uncertainty, it wasn’t until he heard your loaded sigh of relief that he turned to look at you. Your weight dipping onto the shoddy excuse of a hospital bed, you took Viktor’s bruised hands in yours, silent tears streaming down your face with a nervous smile. 

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” you said. 

“What..where…”

“That hit you took to the head? Caused some nasty pressure on that brain of yours,” you tearfully explained. 

“Do…all doctors cry over their patients?” Viktor weakly asked, a smile slowly tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“They do when they care about them this much,” you giggled, wiping away any leftover tears. 

You scooted closer, Viktor beginning to welcome you when he remembered himself. “My father,” he began saying, recoiling away, holding you away at arms’ length. 

“I think he’d be more okay with it than you think,” you murmured. You laughed once more at the confusion on Viktor’s face, promising to explain it to him soon. Looking down at the state of his wounds, you scooted closer to him once more. “Viktor,” you whispered. “Why do you do this? Injury after injury. Do you ever think about…quitting? I can barely stand seeing you like this. And despite this small mercy from you dad, I’ve seen the way he talks to you. The way he treats you. He has no problem with you getting hurt.” 

A long sigh escaped Viktor’s lips. You noted the pensiveness weighing down on him. “No. I will not stop Y/N,” he spoke after a moment’s silence. “I know you think my father as cruel. And he was. My mother…after she left me, left him, that pain. It was inescapable. Constant. But when I am in that ring, I am free. I am focused on what is front of me. I do what I am good at. Not what my father is saying to me. Not the memory of my mother. And then I met you.” 

“Me?” 

“I met you, and I was free. And it was… strange,” he smiled. “I met you, and I wasn’t in pain anymore.” 

You laughed at the irony but urged him to continue. 

“I feel free when I am with you. I know I don’t need to be in the ring all the time anymore. But I still love to do it. I don’t think I will stop soon.” 

In a bold move, you raised Viktor’s hands and kissed them. “How did you know? With me? That you were free, that is.”

“Because I when I am in that ring, I am good at what I do. And that’s when I know I’m free. When I’m with you,” he said, changing the position of his hands so he could hold yours now. “And I make you smile? I feel I am good at what I do. So that’s how I know. Because I love to make you smile.” He kissed your hands for good measure, a gesture that earned another scoot closer to one another. 

“You know what this means,” you said, leaning closer, your lips a mere breath’s away from each other. 

“You can’t be my doctor anymore?” He asked, a teasing smile as he reached up to cup your neck, the pad of his thumb rubbing along the line of your jaw, to pull you closer, making your lips touch in a tender graze. 

Pursing your lips against his, you parted your lips for him, inviting his timid tongue. You were mindful to be gentle with him, though truthfully you wanted nothing more than to push him back against the bed and straddle his lap. The thought, along with Viktor’s question, made you laugh into his kiss. And with that you pulled away.   
“I was going to say, this now means you have to take me on a proper date,” you replied, leaning in for one more kiss. “But still, don’t think it means I want you to stop bringing me Russian teas in the morning when my shift ends.”


End file.
